


NEGOTIATING FOR CUDDLES

by thoughtsdemise



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Cuddle Negotiations, Humor, Light Romance, M/M, Mech/Mech, Out of Character, Some Blood/Torture Talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-20
Updated: 2016-10-20
Packaged: 2018-08-23 13:14:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8329252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thoughtsdemise/pseuds/thoughtsdemise
Summary: Tarn won’t back down even if Pharma is being a blockhead.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Edited by Roth. Thank you, honey.

“Tarn, no.”  Pharma tires to examine a scalpel even as he was tapped on the shoulder again.

“Twenty minutes,”  the larger mech weedles.  Tarn glances at the laser scalpel sticking out of his forearm before turning red optics to Pharma’s narrowed ones.  He taps his index fingers together, optics glowing softly behind his mask.  “Nineteen minutes?”

Rubbing at the bridge of his nose, Pharma stalks off to the right to pull out a strut-saw and several other medical tools that Tarn vaguely recognizes.

“You’ve got your new transformation cog.”  The medic turns back to the leader of the DJD.  “Is it malfunctioning?”

Tarn pats his side as he scans over his internal reports.  And then, without a flinch, he yanks the scalpel out.  “No, but,” he considers the annoyed look the medic was giving him, “…how about fifteen minutes?”

Pharma stops in front of the cold storage stasis unit and leans his helm against it.  He vents heavily.  He doesn’t need to look at Tarn to see the lines of the heavy pout under the mask, or the disappointment visible in the slumped purple frame.  “You’re the leader of the Decepticon Justice Division.”

Tarn taps his fingers together again and fidgets in place.

The jet continues.  “You’ve killed two phase-sixers, right after a long and agonizing torture session.”

The larger mech widens his optics and his head lowers as he hunches his shoulders.

“You take an almost perverse pleasure in ripping other Decepticons apart,” Pharma rolls his shoulders back but couldn’t hold back the pleased rumble from his vocalizer and engine.  “Letting their processed energon drip down your armor plates.”  He turns to the DJD leader.  “Oils stains and coolant staining chassis cords; the aromatic scent of their screams filling your audios.”  Pharma chuffs and runs his hands over his hips.  He steps in front of Tarn who had straightened.  “You take everything and,” the medic flicks his glossa over his lips, “anyone you want.”  Blue digits trance over the lines of a massive chest, teasing at loose seams and tapping at the cables beneath.

Excitement rips through Pharma’s EM field as Tarn’s arms wrap about him and their chests slam together.  The medic arches as he is pushed down into a chainr which creaks with the added weight of a larger mech.  A moan catches on his glossa and his optics pop open in surprise when he feels Tarn slowly kneel.  Pharma’s digits dig into the tank’s elbow joints.

“Alright,” Tarn purrs.  “Fourteen minutes.”

Pharma sputters.  “Wha-“

The charge that had been ripping through Pharma’s systems stalls dead, and the medic twitches in disbelief.  Tarn presses his face into Pharma’s chest, right above the spark.  He nuzzles it light back and forth.  Invitingly, he flexes his tank treads up, while breaming like a sparkling.  His thicker digits knead along the smaller mech’s side and abdominal plating.

Pharma’s helm impacts against the back of the chair with a dull thunk.  He sighs heavily before he begins the ritual of plucking along Tarn’s tank treads.  This cuddle ritual was something that had developed between the two of them over time, and now happened every time the Decepticon got any type of surgical adjustment from the jet.

More than once Pharma has tried very hard to break Tarn out of this cycle (going so far as to tie the big dude down to a berth and bringing out his favorite toys), and focusing on something more pleasurable for both frames.  Say, for example, an overload or six or twenty.  However, he has failed to do so; to make it worse, the cuddling would be resumed right after an interface.

Meanwhile, Tarn breams like a happy turbo-fox pup.  He even began to…Pharma rubbed a free hand over his own face.  He really shouldn’t be so surprised by such behavior.  Hearing the fiercesome leader of the DJD giggle was nothing new.  It was, as a matter of fact, a rather standard part of these sessions.

The one saving grace for the medic’s pride was that Tarn is a mech of his word and never extends time frame for the cuddle beyond the negotiated upon slot.  As unamused as Pharma was, he quietly appreciated that.  The Delphi CMO certainly didn’t need his ward manager or nurse to stumble upon this…this…act.

Another deep vent leaves his chest as he glances longingly at his tools.  The prep work would have to wait another twelve minutes and thirty seconds.  Pharma settles into Tarn’s needy embrace and wishes yet again that he had inherited more of that stubborn idiocy from his former mentor.  Maybe then he wouldn’t have to endure such drain on his time.

Tarn sighs happily and chuckles when he feels Pharma relax in acceptance.  The DJD leader honestly could not figure out why the medic was always so reluctant.  Megatron and his other command staff never had a problem fulfilling this small token of request for either himself or Overlord.  But that was a worry for another time.  Right now, Tarn planned to enjoy his remaining cuddle time.


End file.
